


Reunion

by bluehawthorn



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bath Sex, Between The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, Caring Thranduil, Consensual Sex, Elf Sex, Elvenking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Father/Son Incest, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Mirkwood, Oral Sex, POV Thranduil, Parent Thranduil, Parent-Child Relationship, Pre-Lord of The Rings, Prince of the Woodland Realm, Protective Thranduil, Slash, Smut, Some Plot, post-BotFA, thrandolas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 23:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3507398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluehawthorn/pseuds/bluehawthorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas returns to Mirkwood to make peace with his father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place well after BotFA and before the Fellowship of the Ring. 
> 
> I'm new at this - comments very welcome. I don't own the characters obviously.
> 
> Also, I like Lord of the Rings Legolas way more than I like Hobbit Legolas. That is all.

Thranduil is pacing his administrative chambers in a troubled mood, too many problems without solutions pressing against his mind, when he is startled from his reverie by a quiet word at the door.

“Ada – “

The voice is as familiar as his own, a beloved sound. He whirls around and then stands transfixed. His heart lifts like a sudden wind.

There, at the door, is his son. After all these long years, Legolas has returned to him. 

As soon as he turns and their eyes meet, Legolas strides swiftly toward him, crossing the room quickly with an open joy on his face. But he hesitates, his happiness faltering, and pulls up short right before him, as if unsure how they should greet.

Thranduil reaches a hand out and grasps his son’s shoulder, the gesture full of unspoken feeling. Legolas smiles, bright as midday sunlight. 

Thranduil’s chest contricts with a fierce blend of happiness and remorse and the bittersweet ache of so much time gone. He pulls his son against him in a full embrace, and they remain like that, clasped together for quite some time.

“Ionneg,” breathes Thranduil against the top of Legolas’ head. “My son.” His hair smells like the forest outside, like autumn. “I thought I had lost you. I have missed you beyond what words could tell."

Legolas pulls away just enough to look into his father’s face. “I have missed you too Ada. I am sorry that we parted the way we did. I am sorry I have been gone so long from these halls and from you.”

Thranduil exhales, many years of sorrow in one breath. “It is I who am sorry. I have thought long on my mistakes.”

Legolas’ hand is on his shoulder now, and he is smiling again. The sight of it is a balm to Thranduil’s tired, heavy soul.

“That is past now,” says Legolas. “I have returned to put things right between us. The evil that has been growing in the world must now be fought more directly and if I am to risk my life in service to that fight I wish for us to be resolved and at peace.” 

Thranduil nods knowingly – he has always understood that his son would become part of this long war, as he has been, and his father had once been until it cost his life. "You found Aragorn," he says and his son nods slowly in response, a shadow of dark consideration and seriousness passing over his face. 

He takes a moment to absorb this new version of Legolas that stands before him. He has more gravity than Thranduil remembers, weighted by what he has seen in the world, but also gentled. There are no traces of his earlier restlessness or defiance. His sharper edges have been smoothed by experience. 

He is self-assured and strong in the supple way that only comes from being witness to many things, beautiful and terrible alike, and keeping a heart open in the face of it all. Thranduil can remember when he used to be more like this himself, before too much loss and constant vigilance hardened him.

He can tell from the contained power of his movements that Legolas has come into his own as a warrior. He is quietly confident, the raw energy he once possessed become more refined in his time of independence. He seems entirely present, aware of everything around him and ready to respond in the space of a breath if necessary. Thranduil feels a rush of pride.

“You are much changed, Legolas.” Thranduil’s voice is hoarse with emotion, his throat tight with it. “I can sense that you have seen many things and have much to share. You must tell me about them over dinner. Let me have food brought to my chambers so that we may sup in private. Tolo ar nin."

Legolas nods agreement and they walk together, shoulder to shoulder with matching strides. 

********************

They enter Thranduil’s private chambers, and Legolas looks all around him with a small smile, taking in the familiar surroundings. The memories of his childhood and youth, Thranduil knows well, lie all around them. Not a day has passed since his leavetaking that one thing or another has not brought them sweetly and painfully to mind. 

Thranduil watches him and sees his eyes pause on the entrance to his bathing room. He immediately understands why. “You look to have travelled far and must be weary. Before we eat, shall I have a bath drawn for you?”

Legolas smiles wider and with a grateful sigh says, “You know me well. I am much in need of the comforts of home, father. Thank you.”

At that, Thranduil summons one of his servants and asks them to fill the bath, and then to give them privacy.

********************

The king's bathing chamber is spacious and beautiful, the cavern walls carved and hung with luxurious fabrics. The light is muted and warm. The largest pool has been filled, fragrant steam rising from it.

Thranduil steps away from Legolas where he is looking down at the water with a quiet anticipation on his face, thinking to leave him to his bath. 

Legolas turns to him, a small frown playing on his lips and says, "No Ada, don't leave. Stay. Join me. We have been parted for too long." Thranduil slowly nods his consent and Legolas immediately sets about removing his travelling clothes. 

Thranduil begins to unfasten his own robes, feeling a growing self-consciousness. He cannot help but feel his gaze drawn to his son’s lovely form as he undresses, all lean muscle and smooth skin glowing in the lantern light.

Elves do not have the same taboos as other races against desire between those related by blood, as long as when acted upon that desire is truly mutual and freely chosen.The great spans of their lives make some rules matter much more and others matter much less, and as centuries pass even the feelings between parents and their children must change. They can control what unions result in children to avoid interbreeding where that is a concern and it is certainly not unheard of for a father and son to take pleasure in each other's bodies once the son is old enough. 

Legolas is well into his third millennia, and yet Thranduil does not want to impose such thoughts or glances on his son. This peace between them is too tentative, their reunion too new. Still, it requires a presence of mind to control the wandering of his eyes as he settles himself in the deep water of the warm pool.

Legolas slowly lowers himself against the opposite wall of the bath, hissing in pain as the water reaches his chest. Thranduil’s face rises quickly in concern. "What is wrong? Have you been hurt?"

"Ah, no father, it is nothing. I had a small skirmish with orcs on the border of the forest and one of them was quicker than I expected; that is all. It will heal quickly."

Thranduil is at his son’s side before he finishes speaking, his hands gently examining Legolas’ ribs where they are bruised and abraded. His brow is furrowed with worry, his lips parted with the built up helplessness of knowing he was nowhere near the many other times his son must have been injured on his journeys. 

"We must get you a healing draught," he says, but Legolas catches his hands and holds them in his own saying, "No Ada, it is fine. I am fine." 

Thranduil turns his gaze up to his son’s, and the moment stretches as they both examine the other, recommitting faces to memory. Legolas still holds fast to his hands, their fingers laced together beneath the water all that is between them.

"Oh, Ada" Legolas says suddenly, sadness resounding in his voice and his eyes bright with held-back tears. "I worried to find you angry and closed to me..." 

Thranduil reels a moment, guilt rising hot and thick in his chest. His voice breaking he whispers, "Hush, no, my sweet boy, I could never again wall you out. You do not know the regret I have felt. I am so sorry. Goheno nin." 

“Gwestog?” asks Legolas, and then again in the common tongue, his eyes searching Thranduil’s face, “Do you promise?”

Whispering “yes, yes”, Thranduil reclaims one of his hands and lays it along his son’s cheek. Legolas turns his face and leans into his father’s touch, lips coming to rest against his palm.

There is such vulnerability in it, such affection and relief, that Thranduil is undone. He moves forward and how easy it suddenly is to close the distance, to put an arm around Legolas’ slender waist and pull their bodies against each other in the water.

Skin presses to skin, their long white-gold hair floating around them on the surface of the water. Legolas’ head rests against his shoulder and he murmurs against it "Ada, yes." He pulls his legs up to wrap them around Thranduil’s and this is all the permission he needs.

Something opens in him like a floodgate, all the years of yearning and shame bursting forth and he is pushing Legolas back through the water and crushing him against the wall of the bath. Legolas flinches as his father puts pressure on his injury and Thranduil hesitates, but then his son is pulling him closer pleading, "No, please don't stop."

And so he doesn't. His hands are like wings unfolding against the body he holds most dear in all this world. 

All at once they are kissing, Legolas gasping against his mouth. His son tastes like mountain streams and wide open spaces and summer storms....like hope returned after seasons of confinement and barren ache. 

Legolas is dragging fingers down his back with such force that it is pleasure and pain both. Thandruil skims his lips and teeth along an elegant slope of jawline and throat that is so much like his own and is filled with a hunger he hasn't known in uncountable years.

Gathering his will, Thranduil pulls back from the straining body of his son, breathing heavily. "Ssshhhhh, hush henig. We have more than enough time now. Let us go slowly and remember one another and shape this new thing between us with care." 

He gathers sweet-smelling soap from the ledge and moves to wash his son's body with a kind of reverence, hands tracing over muscle ridges and graceful limbs with deliberate gentleness. Legolas closes his eyes and makes delicious sounds in his throat that are at once filled with both comfort and wanting.

Thranduil can hardly bear it, but he does. He takes his time and when he is done, the last of the soap rinsed from the long hair of his beloved prince, he lifts him into his arms. He carries him from the water and across the floor, both of their bodies dripping and wet. 

***********************

When Thranduil reenters his bedchambers, he lowers Legolas’ feet to the ground and brings him to standing, gathering a cloth and drying his son and then himself in turn. All through it they hold to each other's eyes, not wanting to miss a moment’s connection after the pain of so much distance.

Legolas takes his hand and leads Thranduil to the wide carved bed, standing against its edge. Knowing that they are crossing a threshold of sorts, father searches his son's face for a moment, but finds only desire and affection there with no hesitation in it.

Thranduil feels a surge of love followed by a rushing of something darker through his veins and he guides Legolas back down onto the bed.

He follows, kneeling over his son and then slowly stretching himself out, allowing his weight to settle, flesh along flesh. Legolas moans and arches under him as the lengths of their hardness rub together and are caught between the press of belly to belly. 

Thranduil rolls his hips and the friction is so sweet he feels like weeping. How has he survived the absence of this one thing he loves most for so long? 

He leans down and they are kissing again, soft and unhurried at first but then with a growing urgency. Legolas’ hands are clutching at his shoulders, his back, his hair. It is a torment, but one he never wishes to stop. 

"An ngell nîn. I want you inside me," Legolas pleads and Thranduil feels a sharper kind of arousal shoot through him. 

He sweeps his lips and tongue up over his son’s ear, knowing the sensitivity there, nibbling and nuzzling the tip and telling him once again, in low soothing tones, "In time, my love. In time." 

First he wants to savour this, and he summons the restraint of his considerable years, drawing back to look at Legolas once more. His son is gazing at him with a kind of adoration and complete trust. Does he deserve this? He resolves himself to spending lifetimes earning that look.

He gently draws the palm of his hand down his son’s neck and chest, the touch growing firmer as it goes, ending with fingers spanned across taut belly. Legolas whimpers softly, his eyes closed. 

Thranduil thinks that perhaps he has never seen anything quite so lovely.

He moves his hand down further, and wraps it around the length of his son, which strains against the touch while Legolas arches and groans. Very slowly Thranduil begins to move, gently varying the pressure of his hand, the tendons and bones of his wrist pivoting with each stroke. 

He leans down further, his hair cascading over the beautiful lines of Legolas' pelvis, and takes the head of his cock into his mouth. Legolas is gasping and writhing almost immediately and Thranduil reaches his free hand up and places it on his chest to still him. He then begins to draw his mouth up and let it sink along the smooth hardness of his son, sweeping his tongue along the underside of his shaft and twisting it under the head as he goes.

Despite long years of deprivation, Thranduil is no stranger to dealing pleasure. Although he has perhaps never done it with such tenderness before now.

As he feels the tension peaking in his son he languidly rolls his hand and mouth a few more times along his cock less hurriedly, and then releases it. Legolas lies back along the rich fabrics of the bed, his ribs heaving, panting for breath.

Reaching to the table at his bedside, Thranduil locates the small vial of oil he keeps in a wooden box there. He is so hard with anticipation that his cock aches with it and something deeper in him aches as well. As Legolas watches, he pours oil onto his fingers and leans over again so that they may kiss, long and slow.

He moves his fingers to Legolas' entrance, massaging the vulnerable flesh there as it shudders beneath his fingers. He watches his son's lovely face contort with passion as he slides one finger and then two inside. He adds another as he feels Legolas opening slowly to make room for him. As the flesh inside become more pliable, soft and molten, he moans, unable to restrain his own need much longer. 

He continues to open Legolas’ body to receive him, crooking his fingers to find the small pleasure center inside. "Hîr vuin, An ngell nîn!" Legolas cries out.

It is all he can take. Thranduil slowly withdraws his fingers, lifting one of his son’s legs and then the other to drape them over his shoulders, pulling his hips down along the bed. Dripping more oil onto his own cock where it lies between them, he pushes Legolas back until his knees rest against his own shoulders. 

He adds more oil to the palm of his hand and also runs it over Legolas’ cock until it moves easily under his touch. And then slowly, carefully, Thranduil begins to enter him. 

They are both moaning with the intensity of it, Thranduil with the heat and pressure of his son’s flesh easing around him and Legolas the pleasure of being stretched around his father. 

Thranduil pushes his body down over Legolas, bending strong, flexible thighs back even further until he is angled inside toward that most sensitive place and his belly rubs against his son’s oiled cock as he begins to move. 

At first he manages only the most shallow of thrusts, but as time wears on, his strokes deepen, Legolas arching up into each one, shocks of pleasure wracking his body.

Thranduil’s head is falling forward, and the noises coming from his throat are unfamiliar even to himself, his usual composure gone as he slides into the tightness of his son over and over again. An endless stretch of time passes in the sweet rhythm of their joining, the rest of the world fallen away and everything tunnelled down to this moment and the next, each one filling them with a reckless, fierce kind of joy. 

And then, wrapping his arm around Legolas’ back, Thranduil pulls him up until he is seated on the bed with his son in his lap. Legolas begins to move his hips in tandem with his father's, the two of them rocking against each other until their bodies are dewy with a sheen of sweat and their breathing is synchronized. 

Thranduil can feel the pressure building in his son and reaches down to take his cock in hand, rubbing his thumb across the head and encircling it in his palm. A few firm strokes and he is holding Legolas’ body steady as his son’s climax quakes through him from the inside out, and he is crying out against Thranduil’s shoulder and spilling silver seed over his father’s hand and belly. 

He lowers himself onto Thranduil’s length a few last times, and Thranduil can feel him throbbing inside with the last pulses of pleasure. It sends him spiralling into something akin to grace. 

He is coming like a spring thaw, with the force of a river overflowing its banks, in a rush like rapids flooded with icemelt. He is nothing but a burning song of sensation. He is obliterated and reforged into something new, being torn apart but also becoming more whole than he ever remembers being before.

When he is able to regain his groundedness in time and place, Thranduil opens his eyes to see that Legolas is watching him, a look of wonder and tenderness on his face. Thranduil leans his forehead against his son's and they stay like that, both smiling softly, for some time.

Eventually they slowly disengage, lying down side by side, Thranduil’s arm cradling the neck of his son, who curls up against his shoulder. 

After a short time of lying in silence, catching their breath, Legolas speaks. “Le melin, Ada.”

Thranduil sighs with a contentment he no longer knew himself capable of. “I love you too Ionneg, more than I know how to say. I could never have imagined such a reunion or anything in this world that would have made my heart more glad.”

Drawing up on his side so that he can look down on Legolas, Thranduil continues, “You have helped lift an enormous burden from me, my son. Ni *'lassui. And now, I want to know about your travels and what I can do to help you prepare for what is to come. How long can you stay here with me before you must leave again?"

**Author's Note:**

> Words and phrases in Sindarin (which I believe is what they would speak in their home...yes?):
> 
> Daddy: Ada  
> My son: Ionneg  
> Come with me: Tolo ar nin  
> Forgive me: Goheno nin  
> Do you promise?: Gwestog?  
> My child: Henig  
> Please (Literal: For my joy): An ngell nîn  
> My lord (Literal: Beloved lord): Hîr vuin  
> I love you: Le melin  
> Thank you: Ni *'lassui
> 
> Source: http://www.arwen-undomiel.com/elvish/phrases.html


End file.
